


Out of Phase

by Kedreeva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel shivered when Dean smoothed his hand down the underside of his wing, because he could feel it right down to his Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Phase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sablewick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sablewick/gifts).



         The TV murmured quietly across the room from Castiel where he sat at the small motel room table. He could hear Dean breathing softly as he fought off falling asleep to the drone of the cheesy medical drama of which he was so fond. Sam was in town for the evening, looking into the deaths that had drawn the trio to the small town. The soft sound of a journal page turning drew Dean’s attention to Castiel.

            After a few moments, Castiel noticed that Dean had turned off the television, was just staring curiously at him. Looking up from John’s journal, Castiel met the human’s gaze. Dean’s eyes flicked down, jaw clenching, and Castiel momentarily considered inquiring what was on his mind. Maybe it had to do with the case.

            When Dean spoke it did not, in fact, have anything to do with the case at all.

            “What happens to your wings when you’re all-” he motioned vaguely with one hand. “Vessel bound.”

 

            Castiel tipped his head, because nothing  _happened_  to his wings, he just tucked them out of phase with this world so they wouldn’t get in the way. When he said as much, Dean gave him a dubious look.

            “They go where?” he asked.

            “They do not  _go_  anywhere, Dean,” Castiel repeated. “You cannot see them because they are…” He grasped for an explanation that Dean would understand. “On a different wavelength.”

            Dean pursed his lips and stared at Castiel for a moment longer before turning the television back on.

            “You do not believe me,” Castiel observed.

            When Dean attempted to assure him that he did when it was clear he did not, Castiel frowned, because Dean should believe in his wings. Dean had seen their shadows before, when they met. He had seen their shadows several times in purgatory when they were fighting leviathans. However, it was true- Castiel had never shown him the physical manifestations of his wings. So he clambered to his feet and moved to the center of the room, tracking past Dean until he stood between the two queen beds, the only area with enough room. His wings were… rather large.

            Dean was watching him like maybe Castiel was going to smack him upside the head for doubting him but Castiel merely turned to face him. He held his arms open as if to present something to Dean and as he did so he allowed his wings to join him in their phase of reality. Dean’s eyes went wide.

            He kept them folded behind him as they manifested, sleek and black and soft. Dean had always thought that angels had white wings, fluffy wings, but these were nothing of the sort. These were glossy, smooth. They were beautiful but they belonged to a hunter, to a warrior. These were not the sort of wings he would ever have imagined an angel to have, but they looked so  _natural_  on Castiel.

            “Satisfied?” Castiel asked flatly.

            Dean swallowed thickly, whatever he might have said sticking in his throat. He recovered enough to sit up, his eyes flickering over Castiel, trying to soak up the image because a part of him hadn’t really believed the angel had literal wings. When he met Castiel’s eyes it was with an unspoken question, the sort of question he didn’t have to ask. Castiel just  _knew_.

            Slowly, mindful of the beds, Castiel extended one obsidian wing, curling it forward to encompass the corner of the bed, close enough for Dean to examine it. Close enough for Dean to touch, even though he shouldn’t, even though he didn’t know he shouldn’t. Another angel would know better, but Dean was only human, and Castiel didn’t realize he was reaching out until Dean’s palm was soft along the lead edge of his wing, his fingers curling over the top.

            Castiel shivered when Dean smoothed his hand down the underside of his wing, because he could feel it right down to his Grace. Dean snapped his hand back, gaze flicking up to Castiel’s face but the angel’s eyes were closed. Castiel had to take a moment because it was too  _close_ , too  _intimate_  a touch; angels did not touch one another’s wings and certainly never the underside.

          Pulling in his wing, Castiel folded it back behind him, let his wings fade back to a phase where they could not be seen, where Dean could no longer touch them.

            “I’m sorry,” Dean said softly.

            Castiel’s eyes opened like he was waking up and he fixed Dean with a slightly confused look. “For what?”

            “Touching,” Dean told him. “I should have asked.” When Castiel didn’t respond, Dean shook his head slightly. “Thank you.”

            A brief nod and then Castiel was skirting the edge of the bed, moving back toward the table. As he passed, Dean looked down, caught sight of something on the floor in Castiel’s wake. He reached down, plucking the single sleek, black feather from where it rested. Smiling, he turned to show it to Castiel. “Hey, you dropped one.”

            Taking a seat at the table, Castiel looked over, eyes flicking up and down the long feather. Then he tilted his head, gave him a thoughtful look. “Keep it safe,” he told Dean quietly. “You may need it someday.”

            Dean’s brow furrowed at the comment, but he let it go. “Yeah, whatever man.”

            Despite his attempt to sound disinterested, Castiel did not miss the way Dean cradled the feather for a moment before placing it reverently upon the bedside nightstand. He would later see it nestled in the trunk of the impala, and he would add to the collection when he could. Dean would notice every new addition, would keep count of them. When he opened Baby’s trunk, his eyes would always flicker there first, and Castiel would take comfort in the small smile that twitched so briefly upon Dean’s lips at the sight.

            Castiel would never tell him how much it meant, but somehow, Dean would know.


End file.
